Archangel
by Aeary
Summary: Quite frankly, Roy Mustang was alright with working with Satan himself if it meant he didn't have to deal with this rotten-to-the-core angel.
1. Down

He was okay with working with anyone.

Anyone except for the man sitting across the table from him. Anyone except for this golden-eyed devil with a snake for a tongue and a god for his features. He was beautiful. On the outside. His inside was rotten as sin, shriveled like a burnt log. Any religious official would say he had come straight from the nine circles of hell.

And Roy Mustang was alright with working with Satan himself if it meant he did not have to deal with this rotten-to-the-core angel.

"Alright, you bastard," the angel hissed, leaning over the table with all the grace of a tiger-in-waiting. Roy swallowed thickly and resisted the urge to rock back in his chair. He wasn't quite sure whether to be afraid or annoyed. He opted for the latter just so he wouldn't be walked all over. "What'd you do to get me assigned to you and how the fuck are you going to fix it before your time runs out?"

He blinked. "I rather thought you would be the one to tell me."

The angel wrinkled his nose in disgust. "Those fuckers never tell me anything. Hold the shit while I ask for sure. Damn, why can't they just hand me a sheet of paper or something?"

As the man leaned down, digging out a cell phone that seemed so incredibly _unlike_ something any angel should have, Roy couldn't help to stare at him in a little more detail. He had a strong, chiseled jaw, smooth and free of the stray hairs that constantly plagued Roy himself. His hair was long and thick, done up in a high ponytail. It was golden. That was the only way to explain it and the angel's eyes. In fact, it was really the only thing that gave away the fact that this man was not human. His wings, he had said upon very rudely introducing himself, were not visible on earth for the sake of anonymity among humans. Like that was even an issue. This angel would have stood out regardless of whether he had wings sitting on his back or not. He looked almost ethereal.

Too bad his mannerisms were atrocious.

". . . Wait, what the fuck, really? Three? Why not just one? Why is he so damn special? I . . . yeah, yeah, okay, I'll tone it down. Pretty sure he'd already be fuckin' scared but he's just staring at me like I'm a damn god or something. Pretty sure the real one would take offense—alright, Ling, _I got it._ Yeah. See you soon."

Wait. Ling? What sort of angelic name was that? Roy was expecting Rafael, Castiel, anything of the sort . . . but no. Ling? "Are you sure you're really an angel?" he asked bluntly. He knew he was supposed to greet one, but this . . .

"What'd you fucking expect, halos and poetic analogies? Dream on, old man." Those golden eyes rolled in exasperation.

"What's your name, then?"

"Edward. Call me Ed." He raised an eyebrow. "Got a problem with that? Not all angels just popped up one day to do God's good deeds. Some of us were human once. And have human names. So deal with it or scram and deal with the consequences."

"No," Roy said hastily, placing his palm on the table. "Tell me what the stipulations are. Please."

The angel—Edward—leaned back in his chair, suddenly all business. Roy was almost grateful. "First things first, pops. I want to hear from your own mouth what you're doing here. We all know it. But I want to make sure you know what you're getting yourself into. Not that you really have a damn choice."

"I would appreciate it if you didn't keep poking fun at my age . . . considering I'm not actually that old in the first place."

"And I'd appreciate it if you'd cut this short."

Roy pursed his lips. He wasn't going to get anywhere with this guy anytime soon, so the most he could do was give him what he wanted for now and he'd find something to get back at him for later. He'd looked a little short walking up earlier . . . perhaps that . . .

"I am here," he said slowly, "because a man I worked for performed a ritual summoning a demon that required a soul. The soul he used was mine. Someone—I am not sure who—took it upon themselves to partially reverse the summons and retrieved the soul. But . . ."

"It's been too long. You don't have a body to go home to." Edward waved his hand around the room they were in. A restaurant. But neither of them had been served. Because neither of them could be seen. "You're just a wandering soul."

Roy sank down a little in the seat and nodded. No one could see him. He'd gone into work once he'd woken up, thinking nothing had happened. Only people had walked right through him, and there was a morose atmosphere to the room. He'd figured out pretty quickly that they thought he was dead. It hurt. Nothing had ever hurt like that before. And nothing had ever made him feel so alone before.

"And they offered you a free ride up to the great blue sky," Edward continued on, uncaring. He probably dealt with situations like these on a regular basis. "But you want a way to come back to life. You wanna make things fucking complicated. That's why I'm here. Would've been easier to carry you off into the sunset or some shit. You seem the romantic type."

"And what is wrong with that?" Roy demanded, affronted. Romance was not dead in his heart by any means. He took great pride in being a perfect gentleman, thank you very much.

"You're fucking cheesy," Ed answered without hesitation.

"You little—"

 _"_ _I am not little!"_

Ah. Found the sore spot.

"Anyway," the angel hissed, golden-eyed glare locked on Roy. "Here's the deal. You complete the three tasks the archangels have assigned you, you get your body back. Well, kinda. You'll just be sort of visible to people again. Hate to say it but your body's probably already smelly and rotten. Wouldn't want that back anyway."

"And the tasks are?"

Edward held up one very silvery arm; Roy noticed for the first time that the arm itself was made of metal. Didn't angels sort of get healed or something once they died? Wasn't that how it worked? But a quick glance up told him that, angel or not, Ed's skin still had scars where the metal limb attached to his shoulder. What in the world . . .

"If you're done staring, you fucker, I'll tell you."

The voice was understandably defensive. This was another sore spot for the angel, but one that Roy would not dare explore. Injuries like this were nothing to joke or fight over. Something had happened there. Something he wanted no part in hurting further. He cleared his throat and leaned back in his seat again with a slow nod. "Go ahead."

One metal finger rose. "First. You must be present at a moment of grief over your own person. In other words, people still need to be missing your shitty face. Boo hoo, I wish you were still here, gosh I can't believe it's been this long already, any of that sappy shit. At that moment you will appear to that particular person. You can't move on to the second task until the first has been accomplished."

"Can you say a single sentence without insulting someone?"

"Nah, shit's not fun that way."

Roy seriously hoped someone would cry for him soon. Or he might start crying for his own sanity.

"Second." Another finger joined the first. "You must find two things that you regret the most about your life. And you must find a way to correct each of them using the one person that you have managed to show your beautiful face to."

Somehow hearing the word beautiful come out of his mouth just made it feel even more like an insult. This wasn't even fair at this point.

"Lastly?" he sighed.

"Yeah, yeah." Ed leaned forward. "Listen close, 'cause we've had a whopping total of five cases where they've made it through all three steps. If you want to make it six, this is the hardest step. You need to commit an act of incredible sacrifice. You need to give something up of yourself that you find more important than anything else. And you can't do it just to do it, either. You can't be all 'oh, well you can have my eyes because I'm a vain bastard and my vanity will get the best of me one of these days'. Nah. It has to be for someone. And you have to fucking mean it, because that's what gets everyone. You can't just do it because you have to do it."

Ah. There was . . . There was the kicker. Because Roy Mustang had nothing like that. He didn't have anyone like that. He didn't know a single person in his life who deserved that much out of him, and at this point, in the state he was in, he seriously doubted he'd find someone in the span of time that he had. He sighed, running his fingers through his dark locks. "What happens if I fail?"

The angel's expression changed in a flash. "If you fail," he said slowly, "then you will be sent into service to save the person who cried for you. And they will be imprisoned. So don't fail."

Was that anguish lurking in those eyes? Roy had never seen such an expression before. An expression like that . . . was one that someone could give something up for. An expression like that was one he hoped he wouldn't find when he went searching for the one who cared enough about him to cry over him. This was worse. Something had happened to this angel.

And suddenly, Roy's perception of what was holy and right changed, because this was not righteousness. Whatever had happened to the angel sitting before him had been punishment.

He could read all this simply by that one second of utter sorrow he caught on Edward's face.

He suddenly, impulsively, wanted to wipe that look of sorrow away for good.

"How long do I have?"

"One month. And I hope and pray to _God_ you don't take that long because listen, old bastard, I got way better things to do then babysit you all day long."

Roy blinked. "It is seriously a rollercoaster with you, isn't it?" One moment he felt sympathetic for the creature, and the next minute . . . he most certainly didn't. But who would, with insults like those? Time to roll out the big guns and put the guy in his place. "I can see you have a very _short_ temper."

The murderous look in the angel's eyes was probably supposed to be terrifying, yet Roy couldn't help but to push him more and more. Something about this angel and his gorgeous yet dangerous eyes compelled him to get to know him more. To stir him up, to make him remember him. How many men like him were there in the world? How many people had Edward tried to show the way? At least five. Obviously more than five. Maybe many more than five. He imagined they all blurred together after a while. And dammit, he didn't want to be one of those many.

He was Roy fucking Mustang, and he'd been caught up in something he hadn't wanted to be a part of. And he was going to be remembered by _everyone._ Including self-righteous bratty angels like the one sitting across from him at this table.

Roy straightened up in his chair and stared the other man down, ignoring the dirty look. "So do you poof and then yell bingo at me or something when I get something right?"

"God, I wish." Ed huffed, his bangs flying momentarily out of his face when he did. Roy should not have found that the least bit attractive. He did. "You're stuck with me for the duration of your journey. I get to trail you and make sure you don't fuck yourself over and wind up in purgatory for all of eternity. Pretty sure hell's better. At least the devil has a sense of humor. The guy in charge of purgatory doesn't even blink when you try to blow his balls off."

"That's . . . pleasant," Roy managed. "Just what would I have to do to wind up there?"

"Manipulating one of the steps or attempting to manipulate me into doing something for you. Just F.Y.I., I am not gonna sob my guts out for you, even if you are an attractive old geezer."

"Like I'd want someone as short as you to cry for me. You might shrink if you lose some tears."

Ed _growled._ "You're lucky you're already dead right now."

And Roy, for once, had the audacity to be slightly frightened by this threat. After all, he wasn't the one with a metal arm.

* * *

Tragically, he couldn't rid himself of the obnoxious angel even in his own house. As he stood in front of it, wondering why there wasn't a For Sale sign up yet, Edward stood behind him, arms crossed nonchalantly.

"Nice place," he commented.

"Is that a compliment I hear?"

"Don't take it for granted."

Roy smiled wistfully. No, of course it wasn't something he would say on a normal basis. Besides, Roy's house _was_ nice. He'd saved for a long time to get this townhouse. Two stories, fully furnished, elegant fixtures all throughout. It was expensive. It was worth it. And now he was dead and he wouldn't get to keep it. Except . . . "Has it already been sold?"

"My boss bought it."

Roy whirled around, eyes wide. "What?!"

The angel shrugged. "It's for your benefit. That's how these things work. If you make it past all five steps, you'll get it back untouched. Unless you wanted some rich snob to buy it and move in while you were busy being kindly saved by us?"

Okay. Okay, that did make sense. At least this way no one could take his belongings until he was back. Because he would be back. He was determined to come back to the land of the living. He had things left undone that needed to be done. And he had people here that he never wanted to leave. Even if they wouldn't cry for him. Even if they didn't miss him. He needed them. "What happens if I don't make it? To my house, I mean."

"I could swear you're more concerned about this stupid house than you are about yourself."

Roy resisted pouting at the statement because it was sort of true. "I spent my life savings on it."

Ed wrinkled his nose. "Welp. Found one of your life's regrets. Too bad you can't fix that one since you don't even own your house anymore."

"I don't regret this house, thank you very much," Roy huffed. "Do you have the key?"

"Nope. Forgot it."

"What the fu—"

"You're way too fucking easy to piss off," Ed laughed, the sound a rich ringing tenor. Roy wanted to mentally beat himself up over the sound. It was way too attractive for the angel's own good. He watched with simpering anger and awakening hormones (damn them) while the other man stepped up to the door, one silver hand reaching out to slip the key into the lock. The door opened soundlessly.

The scent of Roy's home washed over him, and he fought the urge to let a couple tears sprinkle out. This was where he should have gone after a long day's work. This was where he should have been, next to his fire drinking brandy and reading a book. But no, Bradley had decided to summon the demon called Homunculus from hell, using Roy's life as a sacrifice. His _manager_ of all people. Why had he used him specifically? He didn't know. He would never know, for Homunculus took Bradley's life on top of his own. Roy was just the unfortunate soul caught in the mix. He'd been given a second chance.

And even if the angel assigned to him was lousy and had a mouth on him, he wasn't going to let that mess up this chance.

"So the first thing," he said slowly, fingers brushing against his coat rack, his little table, his closet door. "I need to make someone cry for me."

"You aren't making someone cry for you. That'd be stupid. God. No, you're looking for someone you think would cry for you. Someone you can trust more than anyone else. Chances are, it's actually someone you would least expect to cry for you. Someone so sturdy you can't imagine them crying."

"Are you supposed to be helping me?"

"This is usually the easy step so who the fuck cares? The last step is the kicker, like I said. No matter how much I help you, you won't get anywhere. That shit's up to you."

"Thanks for the encouragement." Roy sighed; there was no need to finger his things like this was the last time he'd see them. He was going to do this, and do it well. And he was going to get his house back in the state it was in. It was already his again. Even if no one could see him. At least he could still touch his possessions.

"Tomorrow," he proclaimed, deciding to head upstairs and get ready for bed, "we're going to work again."

It had been hard to come in that first day and see half of his team missing. He worked for the city police department. He was an officer and damn proud of it, too. He'd helped solve cases no one else could handle. His passion for helping those in need helped him to go the extra mile. And his team . . . he trusted them. And they had trusted him. Half of them had been out the day he'd stepped into the office, calling them greetings that they never heard. The other half were red-eyed and barely said a word. It had taken five simple words for his world to come crashing down.

For him to figure out what had happened.

"I can't believe he's gone," Kain Fuery had cried, the words choking in this throat.

That was when it had all come rushing back to him. The bag over his eyes, coming awake to find himself in the middle of an elaborately chalked out circle while his _boss_ chanted over him. He remembered Homunculus coming up, leaning over him, reaching a hand out and taking the breath right out of him. And in his final moment, he stared through glossy eyes as he conversed with Bradley . . . then took his life as well. He hadn't understood what was going on, not then. He still sort of didn't. But he did know that he was incredibly lucky to have been awarded a second chance.

"If those of us who get this second chance are the ones that deserve it, then why don't you just give us our lives back instead of making us go through these tasks?" he asked finally as he climbed the stairs to his bathroom.

"It doesn't work that way," Ed answered, in a manner that made it clear the question had been asked before. Quite a bit. "We don't have the power to flat out bring you back to life. These are the stipulations the powers that be made before they finished creating humans. And that's why most people don't make it through all three steps. Because they don't see the world through the eyes that they intended it to be."

"That was . . . strangely poetic, coming from you. I thought angels weren't as poetic as they were rumored to be?" Roy turned around on his step, staring at the man that was following closely behind. Ed looked a little startled, then a little pleased, like Roy had started pushing on the right sort of buttons. That was always a good sign.

Of course, the only thing that came out of the angel's mouth was "Shut your fucking trap, Roy Mustang, or I'll shut it for you."

But Roy felt he'd scored a victory in that regard. He thought he might be starting to get the hang of how this guy worked. How he would be sure to make this man remember him. This angel. Even if he didn't make it all the way through, he would have the satisfaction of knowing that one person on this earth remembered him for who he was: a fighter.

"So what's with your arm?" he decided to ask as he turned back around, stepping upstairs. "It doesn't look like something I'd associate with an angel."

"No can do, old bastard. This isn't about me. I'm just your babysitter."

Ah. Sensitive topic. "I'm sorry if I offended you," he managed, covering for himself. How many others had asked that of Edward? How many others had offended him before? It was a stupid thing to have asked. He shook his head and found his bedroom, pushing the door open to sigh in relief. "I just find it very unique and wondered if you perhaps had chosen to add it on."

He really liked it either way, whether something had happened to him or he just found it aesthetically pleasing. Judging by his response, however, Ed had not chosen to have it. He sounded mildly disgusted by it. He couldn't see why. It was a beautiful piece of machinery, attached to him and working as it was. He turned around again, deciding to be bold. Perhaps that would cool down the angel's snooty attitude.

"I find it attractive," he stated, deadpan, staring into those defensive golden eyes.

And Ed . . . stuttered, froze in place like that was the absolute last thing he was expecting to hear. Unsurprisingly, he recovered quickly, offering up a grin the devil himself would have had a hard time contending with. "Are you trying to have homosexual relations with an _angel,_ Roy Mustang? Because that's probably the first time anyone has ever tried that magic number."

"I . . ." That was true, wasn't it? He wasn't trying to flirt with just _anyone._ He was trying to flirt with an angel, and a male angel on top of that. Should he regret what he'd just said? Probably. But the look in Edward's eyes told him that maybe he actually had a chance with this. "Yes?" he finally managed.

And Edward laughed. Not cynically, not haughtily, but genuinely laughed. His tone was rich and warm, and Roy may or may not have fallen for him a little more just hearing that. Whatever past Edward may have gone through, it was clear that he needed someone to cheer him up. And Roy was only going to be around for a month, but something made him want to somehow cheer this beautiful angel up and make his life a little easier.

"You're certainly an interesting one," the angel finally stated, leaning against the doorframe to Roy's room. "I've never been flirted with before, much less told my artificial limb is attractive. Most of my clients are disgusted by it."

"Because of the scarring?" Roy guessed.

Ed glanced down at his shoulder with a grimace. It was clear he still wasn't willing to talk about what had happened, but at least he was warming up a little. "Yeah. Fuckers think it's disgusting. Like they haven't ever seen a scar before. Most of the people I get are entitled little shits or unfortunate people who just get randomly mixed up in the circle. Even they're just sympathetic." His lips pulled into a frown. "Why aren't you that way?"

Roy gave a small, bittersweet smile at the question. "My soul apparently is flawless, but my body certainly wasn't. I had an accident at my first job." He held out his hands. "Royally messed up my hands. There were scars through both palms where the machinery I was working on got me. So I know about scars. And I've taught myself to believe they are just another part of me. Just like they must be for you."

He was met with silence, and when he lifted his gaze from his unflawed hands, he found Edward watching him silently, appraisingly. The look in those golden eyes was no longer defensive and resentful. In fact it was a little . . . grateful. Relieved. Roy wasn't sure why, but he'd definitely just done something good. Something that would make him be remembered. And honestly, at the end of the day, that was what mattered to him. "Edward?" he asked finally.

"You're different," the young man said finally, raising his gaze to meet Roy's full-on. "And I think I might like that. And the fact that you don't know that you aren't supposed to flirt with a fucking angel of all things. I think I'll give you a shot, old man. If anyone can get through the three steps, you might just be able to do it. Considering you just managed to get me on your good side."

Roy blinked. And blinked again.

"For real?"

"Go take a shower. You stink."

"I do not _stink._ "

"You do. You smell like old bastard soul."

And Roy found this angel attractive how, exactly?

* * *

The next day found Roy in front of his old office. He'd been "alive" again for about a month, but he'd done nothing but wander the streets aimlessly with no way of returning to his home. He couldn't go back into the place he'd worked. Not after remembering. And now, he was unsure if his team still worked here. If he'd still find them. He was sure they'd heard some sort of story about Bradley by this point. Some sort of story about his murder. How much of it was true was something he could only guess. As far as the world knew, there was no such thing as demon summoning and ghosts and souls wandering around. In fact, Riza Hawkeye would have scoffed in the face of any supposed "ghost" they came across. No, she'd probably shoot the damn soul.

"I don't have to go to the basement or anything, right?" he asked cautiously, glancing back at the angel that had followed him down the street this morning. Edward was oddly silent, often gazing up at the sky or down at his feet. Roy couldn't help but to wonder if something was wrong, but he seriously thought it wasn't his place to ask, considering the way he'd been rejected over the arm explanation last night.

"Unless you just have a burning desire to see the place you died, no, you don't have to," Edward answered curtly. He'd stopped looking at nothing by this point, staring at the building in front of them with one raised eyebrow. "You were a police officer?"

"Head of a team too. God a problem with that? It was nice money and I got to keep shitty guys like my boss off the streets." Roy scowled. "Too bad I couldn't see the signs about him until it was already too late." Because there had certainly been signs, now that he thought back on it. From the way Bradley had looked at him when they passed in the halls—like he was meat come to a slaughter. From the way he had made certain comments to him about how he would like to see a particular criminal chopped up like their victims. At the time, Roy had agreed. Now, not so much. Because a couple of their criminals had disappeared shortly afterwards, and now Roy could see where Bradley might have actually done what he'd said he would like to do.

God, how could he have been so _blind_ about the situation? How could any of them have been?

"You know we don't have all day, right?" Ed drawled at his ear. Or, well, below it, but still. "Well, we do, but we're still on a pretty strict time limit if you ever want to get back to protecting the streets of Central or whatever shit it is you do."

"Oh, like you would understand," he griped in reply, reluctantly heading for the front door. The cars were out back, or he would have skimmed to see if his team was there at all before going in. But he figured he might as well get this over with. He didn't think it would be all that hard. The calendar above his dresser stated that it had been one month exactly since his death. That was a milestone of sorts, right? Someone would remember that. He just had to witness someone crying over him.

He pushed open the door to the police department and stepped inside.

The atmosphere was immediately different. He didn't know if it was something he could sense as a dead person, or if it was just that poignant, but there used to be an air of importance in here. Of confidence, of feeling like they were good at their jobs and they were proud of who they were. This . . . was different. This was a sense of desperation and weariness. He could feel the negativity as he walked inside. He hesitated there, hoping now that his team was nowhere inside. Hoping that they had not returned to work for whoever had replaced Bradley, because this was probably even damn worse than whatever Bradley had done. He may have been an evil bastard in the end, but he'd known how to run an office and he knew how to lead his people.

"Well, isn't this the cheerful hangout?" Ed stated, far too loudly in the quiet hallway.

"Shhhh!" Roy managed after a moment of staring at the man in blatant horror.

And Ed . . . laughed. Again. Uninhibited. God, why was that so hot? "Did you forget no one can see or hear us?"

Oh. Right. He had, in fact, forgotten. Not that he was about to admit that. Instead he pointedly cleared his throat, threw up his head, and marched off towards the main office where his team had been located.

But then he stopped in the open doorway, staring at the scene inside. They were still there, alright. Every last one of them. And he shouldn't have been surprised; they were a close knit group, probably couldn't bear to quit and never see each other again. There was Riza, her blonde hair done up in a tight and professional bun as she wrote on some papers. Nearby was Kain Fuery, his back to Roy, typing frantically on his laptop. Jean Havoc, face down on his desk and looking like he was about to fall asleep. Typical. Breda, Falman, they were there too. Roy felt a knot in his heart loosen ever so slightly at the sight of them there. They were still hanging on. Still together, working hard. Whether he was gone or not, the rest of them had maintained their friendships. That was all he could ever ask for, even if he didn't make it through the month.

But there was still something wrong with this atmosphere. None of them were talking. There was no lively chatter in the room like there used to be, no friendly jabs back and forth. They were all leaning silently over their work (or in Havoc's case, his desk). Was it because he was gone? He didn't think so, if they were all still together like this then they would have been talking amongst themselves.

And then the inner door opened, the one to the Chief's office, and Roy immediately understood why.

"Kimblee," he seethed angrily, half expecting the man to feel his murderous aura from the other side of the room. He didn't. The man's dull, snake-like eyes slid right past the entranceway to the workers kneeling over their desks.

"Havoc!" he barked, a sick grin sliding across his face. Kimblee loved to catch people slacking. They'd heard horror stories about the last station he had run. The overall department loved him, because he always got the job done . . . no matter what.

But in truth, Kimblee was a nightmare. He kept his team members working constantly without breaks, not letting them stop long enough to smoke a cigar or really even take a piss if they really had to. He reported them for any slight misdemeanor. He wouldn't fire them. He'd just torture them in any way he could possibly think of. There was no question why the atmosphere in the room was so low. His team was miserable.

And there was nothing he could do about it.

"I already know one thing I regret," he whispered angrily as he watched Havoc jerk upright in his seat, an unlit cigarette still sitting in his mouth.

"Save it for when they cry for you," Edward answered impassively, but it was clear by the expression on his face that he was likely just as disgusted.

Kimblee stalked up to Havoc, circling his desk like some sort of vulture getting ready to eat roadkill. In fact, Roy thought a vulture was probably an apt description of the man. A vulture or a snake. "This is the second time this week," the man practically _purred,_ his voice silky sweet. Sickly sweet more like. "It makes one wonder just what you've been up to aside from work."

"More work," Breda mumbled under his breath. Kimblee seemed a little annoyed by the words, but for the moment, he took no notice of it.

"Ain't had time to sleep," Havoc drawled pointedly, giving a huge yawn. Roy had to hand it to his former teammate; Havoc had absolutely no problem showing his opposition to someone he didn't like. Even if it might possibly cost him his job. And probably, at that point, he might have preferred to get fired. They all might have. But Kimblee kept them there. He wouldn't fire them. And they were all too stubborn to resign of their own free will.

Basically, they were stuck, and Roy had left them that way.

He turned away, not willing to watch the rest of the verbal abuse his friend was about to receive. Edward, however, watched on as Kimblee tore Havoc down step by step until he reduced him to a silent and somber figure. Someone Havoc absolutely was not.

"They would sooner cry about their situation than about me," Roy sighed softly, turning back to watch them as Kimblee returned to the inner office. "I would too. I think I've already failed. No one else would ever shed a tear for someone like me. They were the only friends I really had."

"Sucks to be you," Ed grunted quietly. "You don't know they won't sob their damn guts out over you leaving them. They just definitely won't do it while that fucker's in his office. Wonder if he takes a break."

The angel sauntered off towards the office door and Roy panicked, only to remember once again that no, they couldn't see them. They were fine to sneak around.

And then, of course, Ed had to walk through the damn door. _Through_ it.

He wasn't gone long, appearing just moments later with a satisfied smirk on his face. "Good news," he announced like everything was fine and he hadn't just walked straight through a wall, "he does take a break. Bad news is there's a couple hours til then. So the question is, do you wanna stay here and rot even more waiting for them to somehow suddenly start bawling, or do you wanna sneak off and haunt some shitters until noon?"

Roy squared his jaw and planted his ass on the edge of Riza Hawkeye's desk. "The first thing I do when someone cries for me," he stated with a sense of conviction he hadn't had a moment before, because fuck Kimblee, "I am going to make that man regret that he ever tried to turn his vile tongue on my team. One way or another, I will make sure he ends up in a ditch the next time he wakes up."

"I know I'm supposed to be all spiritual and shit," Ed answered, leaning against the opposite desk with his golden locks falling over one shoulder in a way that made Roy want to jump him (that was odd). "But this sounds incredibly entertaining."

"Why aren't you?" Roy decided to ask. "All spiritual, I mean. I've never heard of an angel that curses like a sailor, yet I think you could win a contest against the best sailor if someone put you up to it."

"Remember what I said? I was human once. And I wasn't exactly a saint when I was. Didn't see why I needed to change it after this happened." Ed made a face of disgust. "When your entire livelihood gets uprooted like it did for me you do kind of resent this for a long time. The way I see it, it's my right to say what I want if I need to live like this."

This was new information, as far as Roy was concerned. Yes, he knew Ed said that he had been human at one point, but . . . "So you're saying that you didn't want to become an angel?"

"Doesn't take a genius to figure out I don't exactly like this job, Mustang." Ed cracked a small sardonic smile. "D'you think I actually _want_ to babysit you while you're conked out snoring in your bed?"

"I don't snore," Roy answered immediately in defense.

"You do. Like a fucking train. Or a car motor. Either way it's seriously annoying. No wonder you died single. You did die single, right? Sucks to be the person who did wind up sleeping with you if you weren't. Granted, considering you hit on me after knowing me for all of three hours, I'm not entirely surprised you're a little sex depri—"

"Anyway," Roy huffed before he could jump across the little space and strangle him. And wouldn't that be something, killing his only chance of returning to life? That was, if angels could be killed to begin with. And he doubted it, considering Edward Elric was still alive and kicking in spite of the insults he liked to dole out on a regular basis. "If you were once a human and you're now like this against your will, then what made you so special? Or rather, what are the requirements for getting that position? Obviously not saintliness as we always thought."

"None of your business," Ed was quick to answer.

Of course. Because if Ed told him that, then he would find out something about the angel himself. And he seemed very much against Roy knowing a single thing about him other than the fact that he was, in fact, an angel.

"Alright," he sighed, running his fingers through his black hair in frustration. Scratch that attempt. "What _can_ you tell me about yourself?" He looked over at Riza curiously but her face was impassively blank as she signed off on another form. Ah. Papers. That had always been his job. At least she was probably glad that the papers got signed on time if she was doing them herself. Not that . . . she looked incredibly thrilled to be doing them. She probably derived more fun out of picking on him for not doing them fast enough.

Edward had shifted against the desk he was currently perusing, fingers paused against a document or other type of paper. The scowl was evident on his face again, the one that said he was thinking too hard about something. Funny how Roy could read him like an open book in spite of having just met him. But at least if he was thinking, then he was contemplating telling him something. Right?

Alas.

"I'm blonde and I have a metal arm," was the reply he finally got.

"Eloquent," Roy answered dryly.

"Ah. I almost forgot. I have a wicked temper too." Ed's flesh hand returned to rooting through papers.

Roy raised an eyebrow as he watched. "Won't they notice you doing that?"

"Duh."

And sure enough, a moment later, Falman nudged Kain, and pointed towards Edward. Of course, it wasn't him they were seeing; it was the papers rising and falling of their own accord. Searching through their documents like he was scrutinizing them all.

"There's no wind," Kain whispered, eyes glancing nervously towards Kimblee's door.

"Suppose we got a ghost in here?" Falman answered.

"You don't think . . ."

"Roy . . .?"

"Or Bradley."

They both shuddered at the same time. But there were no tears, only a subtle tightening around Riza's eyes. Roy supposed it was a longshot anyway. And in any case, Ed definitely hadn't been trying to help him. He'd already said he couldn't do that sort of thing. Not purposely, anyway.

By the time the clock struck twelve, Roy was bored out of his mind, but he perked up when he felt the atmosphere in the room rise perceptively the closer they got. At noon exactly, Kimblee's door opened and he announced abruptly, "Lunch break. When I'm back, I'd better see some progress on this latest case." His lips curled into a derisive sneer. "If not, who knows what I might dig up for you to work on next."

"God, he's a real joy to work with," Edward stated, climbing off of the desk he'd decided to lay all over and nap on. His shirt and hair were rumpled, strands of golden hair falling out of its simple tie, and Roy wanted so badly to touch it.

"Can you eat?" Roy asked. "Can I eat?"

"That's a stupid question. Of course we can eat. It just won't make us fat or shit. 'S great really."

"Then will you go to dinner with me? Correction. May I take you to dinner?"

The angel smirked at the thought. "And how exactly do you propose we order food once we get there?"

Roy shrugged. "I was sort of thinking we could go after hours and cook something in the kitchen ourselves."

He snorted. "Sounds like my kind of dinner. Alright, old man. But no second chances if you're a shit cook." Ed jerked his head to the side. "But if I were you, I'd stop ogling men younger than you and start waiting for your besties to cry all over their papers."

Hawkeye had put her pen down on top of the paper she was working on, biting her lip.

"Can we arrest him for labor law violations?" Havoc drawled in annoyance.

"If only," Kain sighed, leaning back in his seat. Roy was extremely glad to see that they were, indeed, still good friends in spite of Kimblee's negative attributes. They had all relaxed considerably even with the threat of punishment if they didn't keep working. And Roy knew his team well enough to know they were great at getting more work done in ten minutes than they ever would with someone breathing down their necks in a day.

"Roy would probably set him on fire if he knew," Breda chuckled sadly.

"If Roy were here, we wouldn't need to worry about Kimblee. Bradley's better than this guy."

"It's been a month."

Four heads swiveled to look at Riza, who hadn't said a word the entire day. At least, not since Roy and the angel had made their entrance. It was unusual, considering she was one who enjoyed giving orders more than Roy himself did.

"One month today," she elaborated. "Since we found his body."

Oh God. They'd found him, that was right. They'd found him and what was left of Bradley. Bradley had been torn to pieces by Homunculus. Roy's body was simply pale and devoid of life. He remembered it himself. He remembered he'd wanted to throw up. Only he wasn't alive anymore, so nothing ever came up.

"You're so strong," he whispered to his team, "to keep coming into work in the very same place your friend was murdered."

They didn't hear him, of course, but he meant every word anyway. He wanted to cry himself, not that it would do any good.

"I still miss him," Kain said quietly, lip trembling. Edward leaned forward on the other desk, glancing between him and Roy with one raised eyebrow. Close already? Well, Fuery wasn't exactly his first choice but there was no way he was going to get picky . . .

But then across the room, Havoc loudly sniffed, pulling his cigarette out of his mouth. "He was gonna be the Chief one day. He wanted to get to Bradley's position and all. Now he'll never get there."

"He was a good man," Falman choked out.

"If only he would just walk in here now," Breda followed, and Riza nodded despairingly.

"D'you think . . ."

"He wouldn't want us to cry," Riza reminded them softly.

Roy's mouth dropped open. Oh God, this was not going to go down how he hoped—

"But I don't think I can hold it back this time, ya know?" Havoc managed. "His birthday was in two weeks too. His thirtieth. We . . . we were gonna hook him up and everything."

And then all at once, they started bawling. Even Riza, stoic as ever, had one tear roll down her face.

Then five heads jerked over to them at once as Ed shifted on the desk, looking understandably shocked.

"R-Roy?"

"Oh my God, he really . . ."

"Chief!"

"Well," the angel drawled dramatically, arms crossed over his chest, "this is an unexpected development."


	2. Shipwrecked

"Never in my exceedingly long, fucked up life," Edward stated dramatically, "have I seen five sadder, more pitiful faces than there are right here."

Roy, too busy gaping at his team (who was gaping right back at him), took a moment to turn and scrutinize the angel sitting on the edge of the desk, looking for all the world _affronted_ that he was going to have to deal with more than just one crying human face. "Can they see you too or am I going to be talking to myself most of the time I'm here?"

"Tragically," Ed grumbled, "they can see me too. Roy Mustang, you had better not fucking mess this up now or it's not just going to be one person you'll go into service for. One person's bad enough to try to heroically rescue."

"Who did you go into service for?"

"None of your damned business."

Ah, and there it was again. That look of wistfulness and utter anguish. He wondered if perhaps Ed had suffered the same fate as him . . . only he hadn't been able to pass all three stages. Something had happened to Ed to make him the seemingly heartless angel he was today. Roy didn't think he was heartless. He thought he was beautiful, and broken.

He wanted to put back together those pieces.

"They can't, however, touch you," Ed added mildly as Havoc, bawling his eyes out now, came over to try to wrap his former boss up in a big hug. His arm went straight through Roy, much to their surprise; there was a rather comical moment as Havoc struggled to stay upright and practically fell straight through Roy.

"What's going on?" Riza demanded, no sign of any sort of upset on her face anymore. Typical Riza, he thought fondly as he turned to look at her. She had always been stronger than the rest of them. "Roy, you _died._ We found your body downstairs a month ago."

"Are you . . . a-are you a ghost?" Kain stuttered out, his glasses dirtied with his tears.

"In a manner of speaking," he managed, glancing again at the angel sitting across from him for a better explanation.

Edward, to no surprise, made the most affronted face at having to explain himself again before he turned to the ragtag group of sobbing police officers (sans Riza). "He's still a dead fucker, but you may be able to save his sorry ass before he winds up like me. I mean, if you wanna help him at all. He's kind of lousy and all that shit. Can't say he's worth it—"

"Hey!"

"But I guess he kinda deserves a second chance like everyone else who wound up in the wrong place at the wrong time."

He was going to find out, if it was the last thing he did. He was going to find out what had happened to Ed, and who he was trying to save. Ed had been particularly grumpy this morning as compared to last night, and at first he'd thought it had just been because the angel wasn't a morning person. But he didn't remember Ed ever sleeping, and even he didn't technically need to right now. He'd been slightly distant all day, in spite of the on point insults that he had come to learn very quickly was just something he _did,_ no matter who it was he was talking to. It wasn't that he didn't like Roy.

It was that, he thought, he didn't know how to get close to people anymore.

Roy wasn't quite sure how he knew this, considering he'd only just met the beautiful creature standing before him with his amazingly human traits. He just had a feeling. That same feeling that drew him to Edward, to his dark personality and bright as a sun features.

"Tell us what's going on," Riza stated calmly, then jerked her thumb over to Ed. Her other hand was carefully on her trigger. "And tell us who this one is. We couldn't see him a moment ago either."

Roy gradually sat back down against his desk. "When you found my . . . well, when you found me, what was the general assumption of what had happened?" he questioned.

"We thought you'd been killed, obviously," Breda stated, "only the examiners said there weren't any injuries whatsoever. So they said it was probably an accident. Or would've been, except we found what was left of Chief Bradley. So that's when we thought you must've just been so shocked you went into cardiac arrest or something."

"Except that isn't possible, as you've seen worse," Riza clarified, glancing suspiciously at Edward the whole time she talked. "I still stand by the fact that you were murdered. We just don't understand how."

"What if I told you," Roy stated slowly, "that Chief Bradley was trying to summon a demon using my soul as the sacrifice?"

The five of them blinked at him, very seriously.

Then Havoc chuckled.

"C'mon, Boss, you can't possibly expect us to believe you."

"You can't believe that, but you can believe I'm standing before you as a ghost a month after I was found dead?"

"He's got a point," Falman muttered.

"I still don't fully understand it myself. Edward here," he gestured at the angel, "is the one who appeared to me yesterday and explained the details of what had happened. The summoning didn't work quite right and Bradley was killed as well. I was just . . . well, in the wrong place at the wrong time. Or perhaps he hated my guts, because we all know he did."

"Three fourths of the division hate your guts because you're so young," Breda mumbled under his breath.

"This boy, then," Riza continued, not at all shaken; she just wanted all the facts. Roy noted that she had yet to remove her hand from her gun. "The one that told you everything. How can you be sure you believe him? And _who_ exactly is he?"

The blonde gave a mocking little bow, his metal hand tucked against his chest. "Edward Elric, resident angel in service. I'm here to help your boyfriend here have the opportunity to take back his wrongfully ended life. That being said, we _don't have all day_ to go about it."

"You said we had a month," Roy growled.

"You're the one who asked me out to dinner, bastard."

"That's not the—"

"How are you going to do it?"

Roy and Ed looked over at Riza at the same time. Roy cleared his throat and Ed's eyes narrowed into near-slits at her hand. "Even if you try to shoot me," he announced, "I'm just like Roy here. Your bullet will go straight through me. Woefully, I can't die. Sucks fucking balls, doesn't it?"

She narrowed her eyes right back in annoyance, but Roy was relieved to see that she did lift her finger from the trigger at her waist. "I promise we will explain it to you, Riza," he assured her. "Just hear us out. I wouldn't have believed it myself if I hadn't found myself in this situation. But here I am, and even if I got a right shitter for a helpful angel, he's at least trying to bring me back to your world. I trust him. I don't have much of a choice but to, but I do."

"Alright," she sighed eventually. Havoc casually slung an arm around her, and surprisingly, she didn't shrug it off. Something clearly had happened in the month he'd been gone.

"Roy's been tasked with three things he has to accomplish before he can come back to this frankly really boring and shitty looking job of his," Ed explained, picking up a stack of papers to read through as he spoke, like he'd said the words so many times he didn't even need to think about how to say them anymore. "His first task was to witness someone grieving for him without him interfering. Which, in this state, it's pretty much impossible to interfere anyway. What's astounding is it usually just works with one person. But no, he's gotta be fucking special needs and have a whole team want to cry over his dead body. You guys are too damn sentimental, seriously. So now who knows what the hell is gonna happen next. Side note, your serial killer is probably like two streets over, getting drunk in that shoddy bar."

"How did you—" Falman choked out.

"It says here last time you found a scrap of discarded jacket on the last victim. The pub down the street sells jackets those exact colors. Faded yellow and puce green, yeah?"

"We'll look into it," Fuery answered, eyes wide with something akin to admiration. Oh, lovely, his subordinate was falling in love with this asshole of an angel too. Perhaps it wasn't just Roy. Maybe he just secreted angelic pheromones or was secretly Cupid in disguise or something.

"Anyway," Ed continued, like he hadn't just solved a murder case that the station had been racking their brains over for months, "bam, first task complete. Congrats, only the two hardest ones to go. It's your job as the only living people who can see him to aid him with his second task. But it's my job to warn you that if he fucks up on either of these last two steps, you'll also have to suffer the consequences. If any of you don't want to become his sacrifices to save, you can back out now. You're all the loyal sort of fuckers, though, so I imagine none of you will. Typical."

"Damn straight, Chief!" Havoc crowed, leveling a bright grin at Ed. The angel raised an eyebrow at the name, but he likely didn't understand that even Havoc liked him in spite of his insults . . . maybe even _because_ of his insults. Roy had a feeling it wouldn't take too long for him to even win over the likes of Riza.

And that was good. Ed needed people like his team, ones that would accept anyone, particularly ones that really looked like they could use it.

"What do we need to do?"

"You're the only ones who can see him. So he has to work through you to figure out two things in this life he regrets most. You find those two things, and you fix them to where if you don't make it through the third step, you're gonna be grateful you fixed them. That's the trick. These are things you want to fix if you knew you were going to die. So that when you leave you know you've left whatever the fuck it is in a better place. Those two regrets are his. You just need to help him fix them because he can't do it himself."

"What time is it?" Roy asked suddenly, craning his neck to look at the clock on the wall. He still remembered putting it there; he'd nearly fallen straight onto Jean while trying to balance on the little stepladder. It looked like the battery had died or someone had just stopped caring about it, though.

"We have ten minutes before _he_ comes back," Breda snarled, looking at the door. "The worst part is, we can't do anything about him."

"That's because you didn't have me helping you along," Roy practically purred. "Regret number one is ever allowing Zolf Kimblee a spot in the police, much less the chance to control my men. I absolutely cannot leave this world without solving this issue first. My men deserve the best there is to offer."

"I doubt you'll have an easy time finding someone better than Kimblee or Bradley though," Kain sighed sadly as he tugged off his spectacles to give them a firm wipe with his shirt.

"I can think of one person," Roy answered confidently, then looked to Ed. "Is this acceptable as my first regret to fix?"

"Not mine to decide," the angel answered drily, "I don't know what the hell you regret and what you don't. Just so long as it means something to you."

"Good," he answered, turning back to his team. "Because this is something I should have done a long time ago. I don't know why I never did."

"You can't just get rid of Kimblee, though," Falman surmised. "You try telling him we don't want him anymore and he'll spit in our faces. Who knows, he might even try to use us to summon a demon too."

"Honestly?" Roy crossed his arms over his chest. "It's simpler than any of you might think. Riza, why don't you go rummage through Kimblee's desk? There should be a letter addressed to you . . ."

"I can't believe you actually used the word _rummage._ Seriously, who the hell uses that word in their sentences anymore? I'm fuck knows how old and even I don't—"

"Ed."

"What?"

"For once, shut up."

* * *

The door creaked open and Zolf Kimblee peeked around the edge of it, a self-satisfied smirk already plastered to his face as he expected to catch the team doing something he didn't want them to be doing.

Unfortunately for him, all five of his police officers were at their desks, furiously typing away at their computers. His grin slowly fell, dark eyes skimming between his team for something to complain about. He paused, and the grin returned; he sauntered in, shoving his hands into his pants ever so casually. "Look at you all, working so hard . . . I might even think you were almost working _too_ hard."

He stepped inside the room and slid between the cluttered desks, nearly stepping right inside of Roy's foot (the bastard). Kimblee leaned over and skimmed the report sitting next to Fuery's arm. "The serial killer case?" he mused, and then barked a short laugh. "We haven't had a lead on him for weeks . . . now why on earth would you be so intent on this case in particular? There's no reason, I'd imagine."

"Wow," Edward whispered near Roy's ear; the angel had moved over to stand next to him for a better view. "He really is a slimy ol' scumbag, isn't he?"

Both Riza and Jean had fantastic hearing; it was a great asset to the team in high-strung situations. However, in a case like this, it was . . . Riza, of course, barely batted an eye at the comment, but Jean couldn't hide the choked sound of amusement as he heard Ed's apparent observation.

Kimblee whirled around at the noise, his attention drawn to Havoc without even knowing why Jean had laughed in the first place. "Oh?" he said softly, almost slyly. "And what about our local jacket killer case amuses you so much, Jean?"

And, classic Havoc, he couldn't keep a straight face any longer. Honestly, Roy was amazed he'd made it that far without breaking down into sobbing laughter. "The fact that you think I laughed at a serial killer," Jean chortled, slamming his laptop closed.

"It's all set up," Falman announced, calmly shutting his laptop as well. "The bar knows to expect us and to distract the suspect until we arrive. They know not to act like there is anything wrong, but to distract him if need be."

Kimblee's gaze darted between Falman and Havoc, suddenly not sure at all who to go after. Havoc was certainly the better target, as Falman mostly stayed quiet and did as he was told in spite of whatever circumstances he found himself in. Havoc on the other hand . . . he couldn't take criticism well and was more prone to yell than to solve anything. Roy knew this. He knew his team. He knew how to control that.

And soon, it wouldn't be his team. Even if he did come back, this was how it was supposed to be. And he would prefer this any day than having this disgusting man controlling every aspect of the lives of his closest friends.

"The serial killer? You had a breakthrough?" Kimblee decidedly took a step towards Falman. "I suspect you have a recording of the call that tipped you off? Or a document with your lead?"

"Just word of mouth," Falman answered offhandedly, waving a hand at Kimblee.

Which, obviously, was a lack of respect towards the "ol' scumbag".

"Something is going on," Kimblee announced to all of them, "and I would very much like to know what it is that has you all pretending that you can go above and beyond my orders. I'll have you fired if you continue in this manner. Unless, of course, you'd like me to spill your little relationship secret to headquarters . . ."

Jean and Riza rose as one, Havoc's face twisted into an expression that said he'd been waiting a _long_ damn time to be able to get back at Kimblee for keeping that over their heads. Roy, of course, had known about the two of them, but fraternization within the police department was forbidden and so he hadn't said anything to Bradley about it. How Kimblee had managed to figure it out, he'd never know. But the fact that he was holding that over their heads to make his team obey him . . . Roy wished he could strangle him and send him to hell along with Bradley.

But Riza's face was as impassive as ever. She calmly picked up the letter sitting on the side of her desk and unfolded it, holding out the document towards the man standing in front of them all. "Zolf Kimblee," she announced, and could Mustang detect a hint of smugness to her tone? "You have hereby been fired by the Central Police Headquarters on grounds of falsifying orders and lying to superiors about the status of this station. Please hand over your badge and your gun."

"You went through my office," Kimblee hissed, stepping towards her. Riza didn't so much as budge. "You think you can get away with that? You had no reasonable evidence—"

"Our reasonable evidence," she said slowly, "was in the form of a letter left by King Bradley sitting in former team leader Mustang's desk drawer. This letter expressed that, should anything happen to Chief Bradley, Mustang was to take over."

"Yes, and Mustang's _dead,_ in case you haven't noticed," he answered smugly, relaxing a little bit.

"The letter then went on to state that in the case of Mustang's passing, the next in line would become the chief. This was expressed by Mustang himself. There was absolutely no mention of a third-party member of the force taking over in his stead." She looked over to Breda, who nodded and rose to his feet as well, holding up another piece of paper.

"This gave us incentive to search your office for any evidence that Roy Mustang's request had been overturned. Instead, we found this paper, detailing that you were simply to come and provide Riza Hawkeye with the promotion to police chief." Breda raised an eyebrow. "We then found an e-mail, sent by you to headquarters, that said you had offered the position to Lieutenant Hawkeye, but she refused it and instead offered you the position. This interaction did not occur; the position was never offered to her in the first place. You simply stated that you were Bradley's replacement."

"We contacted Headquarters immediately," Kain added helpfully, rolling around in his chair to stare at Kimblee. "They realized what had happened not too long after and they have since terminated you."

"Mr. Kimblee," Havoc stated gleefully, "you have an allotted twenty-four hours to clean out your desk, at which point we will offer you a very tearful farewell." He cackled and added, "that is, tears of joy."

Riza glanced over at Roy briefly and the smallest edge of a relieved smile broke at her face. To Roy, that meant this was more than worth it. If he returned, that spot would no longer be his. It was a position he had desired for a long time, longer than he perhaps even remembered. But for Riza to have it, to know that his team was in the best hands they could be in, made him feel like the sacrifice was worth it.

"This should count double," he griped out loud, not even caring if his team looked over at them with Kimblee in the room. The man was realizing he'd been found out, anyway, and he wouldn't have anywhere to run. "Considering I'm giving up my entire career just to get this bastard out of my team's hair."

"'Fraid it doesn't work that way, old man," Edward gleefully supplied, patting him sympathetically on the back. Roy thought even his pat was sarcastic. "If it makes you feel any better, this wouldn't have been strong enough to get you through it anyway. Definitely counts for the regrettable shit, though. I can see why you'd want to fix this right up. Guy's a right dickface."

Havoc burst out laughing again, and Roy glared at the angel pointedly. Not that it made a difference; Ed was grinning at him and Havoc both. He'd known that would get his former co-worker riled up.

"He's a trip," Jean snorted, and all the while Kimblee stared at him like he'd grown a second head, still not guessing that Havoc wasn't actually laughing at him. Well. He was. Just not in the way he thought he was.

Somehow, though, that was the last straw for the former "chief" of Central Police; with one last threatening glare that presumably meant this wouldn't be the last they saw of him, he took his leave.

"One task down," Roy sighed in relief, "one to go."

And he was so busy basking in the cheers of his friends that he didn't even notice the grin had slipped right off of Edward's face, giving way to the anguished expression underneath.

* * *

The restaurant Roy always liked to frequent was Xingan; excellent foreign cuisine. It was a bit up there on the price scale, but he'd always thought the food and the service more than made up for how much it cost. Tonight, however, he would not be dining there with the intention of paying. At least, not with material money. After all, even if he sat down at a table, he would never get served. He would never be noticed.

But _he_ could touch material things, even if no one could see him doing it. He could still cook, and he could still eat. And it was the simple things like that which had kept him going for the past month before Edward had appeared before him. Before Edward had shown him a way out, whether he failed or not.

Edward, whom he had noticed over the past few hours had gone very quiet. Even though he'd only known the angel for a whopping sixteen hours, he'd already gathered he was brash, obnoxious, and liked to cover up any real problems he had with an attitude that made him seem larger than life.

But he was quiet now. He hadn't uttered a curse word in well over an hour which was alarming in and of itself.

And Roy couldn't help but to wonder if something today had reminded him of his own failures. He'd tried asking again, of course, but he'd been flat out ignored.

But Edward still had not decided against the date he'd been asked on, so Roy persistently decided to go forward with it. He led the angel to his favorite restaurant very late that night, standing in front of its darkened building with an obnoxiously eager smile on his face. "This is it," he announced, looking over at Ed for approval.

And Ed blessedly raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed just like Roy had secretly hoped he would. "It's not very festive," he pointed out dryly. "What exactly are we doing here? It's not like you can ask for a menu or shit."

"That's correct," Roy surmised as he dug through his pockets for the key he'd been able to take from his house. "But the owner of this restaurant was a good friend of mine. He left me a key for when my team and I got off of work very late, so we could come and cook something for ourselves. I'm very familiar with the kitchens here."

"I mean . . . great, so we're not breaking and entering, but isn't he going to notice some of his supplies are gone? Pretty sure he's not fucking blind, and it's pretty damn obvious you're dead. He's not going to think it's you."

"Somehow, I doubt he'll care overly much. We aren't going to eat him out of house and home. And I always leave everything the way I found it." Roy shrugged and gestured for Ed to go inside in front of him. "Don't worry about it," he insisted, "this is a date, after all. Don't worry about any of it and let me handle everything."

Golden eyes locked onto Roy's, and for a moment he wondered just what was going through Ed's mind. He probably hadn't been asked on a date like this in years . . . especially considering his personality. "Fine," the angel finally answered with a scoff, but Roy grinned in delight. He could hear the pleasure and nervousness in Edward's tone. Which meant that, at the very least, this was something he could help Ed to remember him by.

The restaurant was just as dark inside as it was outside, but Roy didn't plan on dining in the open guest area. Instead, he bypassed it entirely and led Ed to the back, where a separate room was set up for those who could afford it or those who planned romantic dates like Roy tended to do. He couldn't help it. There was just a part of him that desired to make his dates as pleased as they could possibly get. It was why Riza had once nicknamed him "The Flame" . . . she once said he was so sappy and flirty some of the girls could probably catch on fire if they came too close.

He'd never courted a man before, though, so this was an all new experience. He just couldn't help wanting Ed to feel the same way all those girls used to. No. Better. Because Ed was different, he was unique. Roy could see that. And he would get the best of the best, even if he thought it was the most ridiculous thing on the face of this earth.

And sure enough . . .

"Bloody fucking hell," Ed groaned, taking one look at the dimly lit room with its two-person table and floral arrangement. "I figured we'd be going out for burgers and a beer or something like that, not a fucking five-star joint. You're ridiculous."

"Ah, I live for that phrase," Roy chuckled in reply. "I simply don't like to half-do things."

"This shit might be taking that to the extreme."

"Well, you can sit down and wait while I cook our dinner, or you can come back to the kitchen and watch. Your choice."

"Well fuck. I mean all I do is sit and watch so there's no in between, is there?" He jammed his hands into his pockets and nodded at Roy. "At least the kitchen's probably less fruity. Lead the way."

"If you would prefer to sit in the main dining area, that can be arranged as well," he thoughtfully replied, turning to step into the (frankly, magnificent) back kitchens. "I just thought it might be more prudent to use a room that no one would notice the lights were on in, rather than thinking someone was actually breaking into the restaurant."

"Nah," Ed was surprisingly quick to answer. "I figure you probably planned it like that so I'll just let you mess up yourself. I mean shit, I don't remember the last time I had a date. Don't think I ever planned on either, y'know, being . . ."

"Ah," Roy answered, pulling out an apron to tie around his nice suit. "So you've always gone for the handsome young men, then."

"Listen, bastard, if you're trying to set yourself up as young and good looking, you might have another thing coming," Ed laughed smartly, but quickly shook his head. "I never knew until after I . . . uh. Never had time for dating. Now I have all the fucking time in the world and I can never actually stay with anyone so I figure it's kind of pointless in the end."

"You can never stay with them because . . ."

"You know why."

Ah. Of course. Ed could never stay with anyone he found attractive because the only reason he met them in the first place was because they had died. And if they had suffered deaths like his, then that meant those people either came back to life, or ended up like Ed themselves. Either ending was unfortunate for Ed. "Was there anyone before?"

The angel hopped up on top of a dishwasher, his mismatched hands rising above his head as he stretched leisurely. This, at least, he seemed to have no problem talking about. "Yeah, once. It's been so long I don't remember what he looks like anymore. He was one of the few who came back to life."

"Did he leave you?"

Ed shook his head, and lowered his arms to his sides. "Actually . . . if you make it through all tasks, you won't be able to see me anymore. Literally, I mean. I could be standing right in front of you, screaming in your face, and you wouldn't hear or see a single damn thing." He shrugged. "So basically, he moved on, and I was still stuck like this. It's fine. He wound up living a great life in the end. Had a sweet wife."

So Ed had watched him.

And that . . . that made Roy's heart sink. He was a romantic. He was every ounce a romantic as the cheesiest comedies they could show on TV. Edward had watched the person he'd come to care about, even though that person could no longer see him. He'd watched him find someone else to love. He'd watched him grow away, grow to forget the relationship he had with that person, no matter if it had only lasted for a month.

He couldn't even imagine how Edward had felt.

So now . . . what was he doing? Flirting with this being who was no longer human, who had to watch all of his friends grow old and die. Everyone he met, everyone he'd encountered, had either moved on or had suffered just like him. Wasn't he doing just the same thing? Wasn't he going to leave him?

Except. Except he didn't want to.

"What happens if someone doesn't make it through? Do you ever see them again?" he tried.

"Don't you fucking think about it," Ed answered vehemently. "This isn't a life I'd ask anyone to have. If you want to call this shit job a life. I'd rather watch someone I care about move on with their life than have them sit through this hell. Fuck being immortal and shit, I just want my bro—" He sucked in a heavy breath and jerked his head to the side. "Anyway. Don't fucking do it, okay? Try your hardest to make it back alive, Roy. Your life is more valuable than that."

"Do you say that to everyone?" Roy asked, turning to face Ed with a raised eyebrow. "Everyone you meet. Do you always tell them to do what they can to stay alive?" He took a deep breath and decided to press once more, "You seem more determined than anyone else I've ever met. You seem to have someone you want to save more than anything. So why didn't you make it, Ed?"

"I thought you were making our fucking dinner," he spat instead, and whirled to walk off. Once again, Roy got nothing out of him.

Maybe it was for the best that he just stopped asking. He'd known Ed for such a small amount of time. He wouldn't know him for much longer, either. Once he . . . figured out what else in life he regretted, once he figured out what he was willing to sacrifice, he would be back with his team in that small police building, making jokes about Havoc's hair and poking fun at Falman's expressions. With the people he cared most for.

And Edward would not be with him. He would be stuck, like this. Until his time had ended, until he could rescue the one waiting for him.

But, for this one month, Roy was going to try his hardest to make sure Edward knew that his efforts were appreciated more than he could express in words.

So he cooked up the best damn dishes he knew how to make in this restaurant and carried them out with as much gusto as he could, complete with the towel draped elegantly over one arm. Ed was, blessedly, still in the restaurant. Roy had half thought the angel would take off. But whether it was because he thought he'd been too harsh or because he simply couldn't leave Roy, he was still there, sitting in one of the two seats in the little room and glaring sullenly at the dainty white tablecloth.

But when his eyes rose up to meet Roy's, at first defensive, that sullen glance was immediately replaced with one of ridiculous proportions. It was one that Roy certainly wanted to see and it made his heart soar a little bit to see that he had cheered the angel up ever so slightly.

"You," Edward proclaimed, "are a fucking saptastic idiot."

"Precisely what I was hoping for," he chuckled as he set down their plates. He then pulled a bottle of wine from his apron pocket and expertly poured two glasses of the best wine the restaurant owned. "I apologize, Edward. I must have been incredibly forward and inconsiderate to ask you about your own personal struggles. The circumstances of one's death aren't always the most memorable or talked about things."

"Uh." Ed glanced from the glass of wine up to Roy's, and the former policeman noticed a slight flush on those tan cheeks. "Apology accepted. Or something."

"Go ahead and eat. I swear it's not poisoned."

"Wouldn't really matter if it is," he snorted, but he continued to watch Roy curiously. Roy, slightly thrown off by Ed's sudden interest in watching him, sat down gingerly and placed the towel and apron off to the side.

Eating was an experience when one was dead, Roy thought to himself as he bit into his meal. All of the flavors seemed dulled somehow, like they were passing through him just like the rest of humanity seemed to. It also seemed to disappear somewhere inside him, or maybe it just went straight through and he never had to look. Either way, there were pros and cons to the sensation.

"I think I'm going to miss the lack of urge to shit once I'm corporeal again," he sighed, mostly for Ed's benefit, and glanced up to judge his reaction.

He looked amused, at least, and entirely ethereal now that he'd lit the little candles sitting on their table. The flames seemed to accentuate Ed's golden hue and made him seem more angelic than his mannerisms could ever make him. Not for the first time, Roy wondered if he looked that way when he was a human. Somehow, the thought allured him more than the thought of Ed as an angel did.

What had he been as a human? This was something Roy wanted to know desperately. How old he was, what his family had been like, why he was always so bitter now . . . Roy wanted to know all of these things about him. And he'd only known him for a _day._ There had to be something wrong with him to think this way.

"Any idea what your second regret is you want to fix?" Ed questioned, apparently done staring at him for the time being. Instead he was inhaling his food like he would starve to death if he didn't get it all down him, and Roy momentarily prided himself on being a good cook. It was pretty damn good, if he did say so himself.

"We've only been at it a day," he pointed out. He didn't understand what the rush was. He felt like he needed time to think it over, figure out what was really significant to him.

"Every day counts, Roy. Every single day. Don't treat this like a game. Not like I did." Once again those glaring golden eyes stared him down. "I've seen how your team cares about you. Don't fuck it up. Don't make them lose their livelihoods too just because you think you have more time than you actually do. One month. Thirty days. You need as many days for that last task as you can get because that is the one that fucks everyone up, Roy Mustang. Don't you doubt that for a second. If you can sit here right now and tell me what you're willing to sacrifice . . . if you tell me you've already figured it out, then you're going to fail. Because nothing is ever as fucking simple as that. I can guarantee it."

"There is one other thing off the top of my head that I've regretted for as long as I can remember," he admitted, setting his fork down. "But I'd prefer not to talk about it at the moment. This is a date, I don't want to talk about myself. And I don't want to make you uncomfortable either. The only thing you ever get to talk about is someone else's life. Or lack thereof." Roy leaned forward, propping his chin up with a hand to stare down the other's gaze. "So, Edward, tell me something about yourself. Something you only share with those who ask. It can be stupid, scary, silly, serious. Whatever you want to tell me."

"I'm going to vomit," was Ed's snarky reply.

"Tragically," Roy responded with an answering smirk, "I think we are at the point where vomiting is sort of impossible. Frankly, I'm not even sure where the food is going anymore."

"You're—"

"I'm?"

"Actually a fucking trip sometimes."

"I take great pleasure in that acknowledgment."

"Yeah, whatever." Ed fell quiet, and Roy let him be. Whether he was thinking about what to say, or whether he had decided the conversation was over as of that moment, he wasn't sure. But he would let the angel figure things out on his own. As much as he wanted to know, pressuring him into anything had already proven to be a big mistake.

He took a sip of his wine, regretting that it honestly just tasted like bitter water to his dead tongue, and then Ed spoke up.

"You asked me last night about my right arm."

Roy's head whipped up to stare at the metal limb. The more he saw it, the more allured he was by it. And the more curious he was to know just what had happened to Ed. What tragedy lay behind it. Whether it had something to do with why he was here like this or not. "Yes," he agreed, watching one silver finger tap the edge of the table. He'd never seen a prosthetic limb move as smoothly as this one did.

"Fuck knows how long it's been since it happened. I don't even remember the original date anymore. I mean . . . the date I was . . . yeah. Anyway." Ed huffed out a quiet sigh. "There was a fucking stupid accident. It was my fault. I was a kid, I didn't know any better. Long story short, I was playing with my dad's old experiments in the basement and set the house on fire. My mother and my brother got out just fine, but I got stuck down there. Managed to hide behind this old fire safe my dad had but I was already hurt pretty damn bad. Lost my arm and my left leg too. Burns were too severe."

"Your leg too?" Roy managed to ask as soon as he could swallow the thick knot in his throat. Ed had been so nonchalant when he talked about it. Like it was just something that had happened on a normal day. What the hell had happened to Ed to make losing two entire _limbs_ something of a common occurrence?

Ed slipped to the side of the table and flung his left leg out to the floor. Now that Roy knew, he could hear the thick hollow clunk it made when it hit. He knew what he'd see when Ed rolled up his pant leg. Silvery, sleek metal, going all the way up over his knee to his thigh. It was just as alluring as his arm but . . . now that he knew the reasoning behind it, Roy couldn't help feeling a little less _turned on_ by it.

Not that he was sickened by it at all, which, judging by the tight expression on Ed's face, he was expecting Roy to be.

So Roy reached down and gently brushed his fingers against the metal, acknowledging that, angel or not, this was a part of Ed. This was his body, silver and golden both. "It's so very well done," he commented softly, looking back up at the angel. Ed's expression had tightened, but not in an unwanted manner. In fact he seemed a little . . . intrigued by Roy's interest. "Even with you being older than I can fathom, I've never seen workmanship this exact."

"That's because no one made automail like my best friend and her grandmother did," Ed affirmed proudly. "Second I found out I was down two limbs I was asking for their help. I . . . probably would've still been paying them off today though. If they were still alive, I mean. Shit was expensive." He rubbed at his wrist distractedly. "But they were great. Winry and Granny. Dunno what I'd do if this set ever breaks down. I imagine it probably will at some point."

Which meant that neither of them were the ones he was trying to save. Even if Edward hadn't meant to spill a couple of his more important secrets, Roy was piecing together a little bit of what had happened. Not why, not how, but perhaps maybe who.

"My parents died before I ever got to know them," Roy told him, "so I may not have experienced as much loss as you did, but I know what it's like to continue living without the ones that should have been there."

If Edward was willing to give, then he had to be willing to give too.

"What happened to them?" Ed asked as he rolled down his pant sleeve.

"My mother died giving birth," Roy answered easily. "My father died shortly after. He was in the war. I'm not sure if you knew about it. It wasn't dramatic or anything. He just got hit by a stray bullet from our own side. I was left with my aunt. Who," he added quickly, "is possibly the best person to ever have raised me. I can't imagine how I would have come out otherwise."

"Is she as cheesy and over the top as you are?"

"Actually," he replied with a grin, "she's as blunt and rude as they come. Made me want to be nothing like her. But I still do and always will appreciate her honesty."

"I bet I'd like her," Ed conceded.

"I bet she would like you too."

In fact, he imagined they'd have a blast together, especially once Aunt Chris got into her stash of baby photos. She always did like to make fun of those whenever she could.

"You're weird."

"Excuse me?"

Edward had wrinkled his nose, staring hard at Roy in the silence that had just transpired. Now his eyes were more content than they'd been all day, and with a loud thunk he dropped his right elbow on the table to lean forward a little more. "Like, different. Like . . . I don't fuckin' know, but when I first saw you I thought you were lousy and probably deserved to be the bait for a demon. But I was probably a right dick to think that. You're interesting. And probably the first person who . . ."

"Who?"

He cleared his throat awkwardly.

"The first person to treat me like I'm human in a long time," the angel finally admitted.

"Well," Roy answered, rising slowly to his feet, "aren't you? You weren't always an angel. You look like you were a lot younger than me when you had to go through this. And even in that short span of time, more happened to you than I can ever imagine happening to me. That's not just human. That's a life of unfortunate circumstances." He stepped across the table, in front of Ed. The golden-haired man stared back, although his face seemed a lot more awkward. Roy was more sure than ever, though. Even if he wound up hurting both of them, at least he could give Ed a proper life for the one month or less he was here with him.

"I'm here because I'm a fucking idiot," Ed answered quietly, but he still didn't seem willing to share. And that was fine.

"That's just the thing, isn't it?" Roy asked. "An angel can't be a fucking idiot because, at least to us, angels are supposed to be perfect. You're no angel. You're just Edward. At least, that's how I see you."

Imperfect. Human. They were one and the same, to him, and Edward embodied that sentiment perfectly. Roy looked down at his golden eyes, and reached a hand out to touch the golden braid.

And then he couldn't resist the impulsive decision to lean down to the being siting in the chair, to look him boldly in the eyes, and to press his lips to Ed's.

His lips weren't soft, like a woman's, or shapely. Ed's mouth was rough and firm and everything Roy wanted to be kissing. They tasted like the wine they'd been drinking, and he got more flavor of it out of the kiss than he ever could drinking from the glass. For a moment, he thought he was going to be pushed away; the form beneath him was stiff with shock and almost offended.

But then Ed reached up, twisting silver fingers into Roy's short hair and dragging him closer to him. It hurt, of course; Ed's grip was stronger than any flesh hand could be. But Roy didn't protest, he would never protest, because Ed's teeth biting down on his lip, the way his breaths panted harshly and desperately . . . it all went straight to his heart and his groin as one. Ed was beautiful.

He wasn't just an angel.

To Roy, he was the highest order. An archangel.

When they pulled apart, both of them panting, Edward's eyes met Roy's dark ones. He swallowed, met the gaze, and resisted the urge to go right back in for more.

"Please," Ed whispered to him, as earnestly as he could, "make it through this."


End file.
